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<title>The Comfort of Routine by Bittercape (bittercape)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772955">The Comfort of Routine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittercape/pseuds/Bittercape'>Bittercape (bittercape)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Flufftober drabbles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Jeeves &amp; Wooster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:06:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittercape/pseuds/Bittercape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Flufftober day 2: Comfort</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Flufftober drabbles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A Wilde Ride October Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Comfort of Routine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There were birds outside making a frightful racket. The feathered kind, not the besuited kind. My skull felt about five sizes too small and heavier than Aunt Dahlia’s luggage when we last went to Antibes. Rather a pleasant place in general, Antibes. I didn’t ever get this kind of head there. My thoughts, such as they were, were interrupted by the gentlest clearing of the throat, as though made by a fluffy little lamb on a hillside some distance away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your morning restorative, Sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bless the man for letting me recover before resuming our ... regular morning programme, shall we say?</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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